


Plummet

by ossseous (ozean)



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Aftercare (sort of), Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, M/M, Rape Roleplay, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozean/pseuds/ossseous
Summary: He wishes he could fall asleep, he really does. He wants that jolt of confused surprise to wash over him, to prickle him with panic for a nice substantial minute while his groggy thoughts try to order out what’s happening. In a perfect world, it’d be all in vain, he’d never in his wildest dreams be able to anticipate what he was about to go through, at least not until it was too late.





	Plummet

He wishes he could fall asleep, he really does. He wants that jolt of confused surprise to wash over him, to prickle him with panic for a nice substantial minute while his groggy thoughts try to order out what’s happening. In a perfect world, it’d be all in vain, he’d never in his wildest dreams be able to anticipate what he was about to go through, at least not until it was too late.

Maybe the understanding would come at the quiet creak of the door swinging open. He meant to soak those hinges in WD-40 weeks ago, but couldn’t bring himself to take away that little warning. Or maybe he’d feel it at the footsteps, shuffling carelessly over the floor boards, recklessly confident. Or when the bed sinks. Waking as his body dips towards the heavy weight of his intruder.

If not then, then perhaps when he hears the slip of rope through the slats of his headboard, or when the fibers burn tight around his wrist, or when a hand cups without any pretense of gentleness right over his mouth to lock away the shouts that never surface.

But Baby can’t fall asleep. He never falls asleep. It’s become almost predictable. He stumbles into his room at the end of an endless shift and drops right into the bed. Only then, when he finally lets himself acknowledge how exhausted he feels, does his body decide to snap right awake. As though those hours drifting from store door to door to door were when he was truly asleep.

So he waits for midnight. The witching hour when some dark horrible beast will slither into his room like clockwork. No, that’s not right. Not a beast, just a man...

What matters is, he just wants that lurch in his chest to finally dissolve. It settled in the minute he sent the text, hasn’t relented for one second since.

He gets his wish the second he feels weight settle across the back of his thighs. Shames burns across his ears as it sinks in: Someone got the drop on him while he was wide awake. Maybe he was thinking too hard. Maybe he wasn’t thinking hard enough. Maybe this was the closest he’d ever come to actually feeling what he wanted to feel and he let his thoughts disintegrate too much to even know it.

The struggle he puts up is half instinct, half halfhearted. It doesn’t last long. He bucks, he writhes, and he doesn’t scream. Not yet. Not even when his wrists are caught and yanked carelessly above his head, fastened to the headboard with little ceremony beyond a grunt of effort in that darkness above him.

The guy shifts forward, a languid movement, almost subtly crafted to tug a shudder from him. He focuses on the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric, how deafening it is in the quiet space between each deep, deep breath he takes.

And it’s almost hard to breathe with his face tilted into the bed and all. But he knows if he tilts it to the side so he can breathe like normal, he’ll see things and he can’t do that. He just can’t. Can’t.

It’s easy to forget though. Especially when only a moment later anticipation gets drawn tight. Hands skate down his sides, yanking a gasp right out of his throat.

His shirt gets plucked, drawn up along the length of his spine with a calloused thumb. The cool air should have been a shock to the system, but his eyes flutter shut, his toes curl. The realization that he’s still wearing his socks gets abruptly cut off when the guy flattens along his back, and he hates it, he hates that he doesn’t regret how readily he soaks in that burning warmth, how willfully he takes all that weight.

That’s when Baby feels it. The hard line of a cock, fitting so easily against his ass. The guy rubs, drawing slowly up and down, minute thrusts in the simplest rhythm. Baby almost finds himself angling his hips up to meet it, to take that torturous grind even deeper. But he catches himself, tries to wriggle out from under him. It doesn’t matter if he knows its fruitless. Just as long as he tries.

Just as quickly as it arrived, the weight’s gone. For a moment, panic seizes in his chest, he almost lifts his head. Almost. But then there are hands at his hips. The guy doesn’t even bother to under his belt. No, he just hooks his fingers in the waistband and yanks. He has to do it twice. The first time to get them over his ass, the second to pull them free from his legs. The drag of fabric over his skin burns. The socks somehow manage to stay.

Weight returns, denim rough on his thighs, but he doesn’t have time to even think about that. Not when thumbs pry his cheeks apart. He sinks his face deeper into the bed because he knows. He doesn’t have to look to know the guy is just… looking.

He spits and the sound makes Baby jump a little. The little chuckle isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is when his thumb rakes down, massages that warm saliva into his hole, and he gives way to it so easily he can’t bite back the groan.

That’s it, really. Belt jingles, a zipper follows. The weight of the guy’s cock sitting in his cleft isn’t a reality he is ready for. But that doesn’t really matter when a hand plants right next to his shoulder and the guy reaches between them to adjust. The tip rubs teasingly over his hole and that’s all the warning Baby gets before he’s just sinking in.

He buries that sob that leaks out in the bed. The guy leans closer, right next to his ear. “Go on, let me hear it.”

And he doesn’t do it. Not at first. Not until the guy’s shifting back, taking a bruising grip on his hips and bottoms out as hard as he can. It hurts, way less than he expects which he hates because he really, really expected it to hurt. But it hurts enough, so he buries his face in the bed and he screams. He knows it’s muffled, doubts the neighbors can hear. Part of him wishes they could.

Each drag of his cock lights something in Baby and he grabs the headboard, lets the wood burn blisters into his palms. Hands hook into his shoulder and the pace surges, becomes relentless, dangerously close to pulling Baby up but that’s no good. Then he’d be able to see. So he fights against the tug and it just pulls the guy deeper into him.

Its over almost too quickly. In fact, he doesn’t realize its over until he hears the guy’s grunt, feels the aborted thrusts and the telltale shivers as he empties into him. Baby hardly registers him pulling out, stepping back, only getting it when he hears the muttered, almost awed, “Goddamn.”

Every sweat soaked inch of skin is so much colder without that warmth pulsing out over the bed.

And he’s 100% ready for it. Ready to get untied. Ready to get left alone. The second he hears the latch click, he’ll be up and in the shower in a heartbeat. Well before he can let himself melt back into the bed, get comfortable, reach a numb hand down into the tight space between his stomach and the bed and pull free that pleasure that’s built up. He’ll let it all slide away into a blank nothingness, right alongside the ice-cold water as it slips down the drain.

But he doesn’t get untied. Doesn’t hear those cues. The zipper, the creak of the door. He doesn’t even get the chance to sit up and see what is going on when a grip on his ankle yanks him hard, spins him onto his back.

And Griff doesn’t give him time to reorient before he drops back onto the bed, right between his legs. He doesn’t know how he knows exactly what’s about to happen. Maybe there were clues or some sign he shouldn’t have brushed off. But he knows.

He forgets for a moment there that his hands are still tied and pulls them hard enough to rattle the headboard. The _no, no, no_ ’s come out more like whispers and suddenly, that word is right there, blazing through his thoughts. But then Griff’s just swallowing him down with absolutely no preamble and he’s breathing so hard and so fast he’s getting too lightheaded to think

He kicks his legs out. Tries to get away. This isn’t part of it. But Griff hooks his hands around his hips and tugs him. The movement pulls his arms to a taught line over his head

“Br—" It’s right there. Right on the tip of his tongue, bitten off as he tries not to melt into the warmth.

“You gonna say it?” His voice rough as he pulls of his cock, lets it slap back to his stomach. Griff laps a hard, wet line up the crease of his thigh. Baby doesn’t say it though, not as Griff tongues down to his balls, sucks them one after the other into the wet heat of his mouth. “Didn’t think so,” he grunts.

He wants to sob, tries to bite it back when Griff traces his tongue up the length, sucks in the tip, lets his saliva pool and eases his cock deep, deep into his throat. It almost feels impossible to be that deep but apparently it’s all he gets because Griff eases him back out before he can even give into that urge to thrust up, see if he can go any deeper.

He knows it’s coming to an end soon. There’s no question of how short it’s going to be when Griff’s fingers are pushing into him and crooking almost expertly and all he can do is tilt his head back because he’s gone, shaking. Body convulsing with every heavy throb that echoes through his body.

It’s not so much that he blacks out as much as he goes out of focus for a few minutes. When sensation filters back he feels the way the shivers are still racking through him, like he’s stuck in the arctic. He heard once when you’re freezing and you suddenly feel warm, that’s when you’re about to die.

Fingers pick at the rope at his wrist and he flinches, whispers out a quiet little, “No.”

The hands retreat, the rope stays and he almost sighs because he’s not ready for that just yet. Giving over to the warmth, it was just too much. Footsteps disappear and return a moment later. Each breath feels like its scraping away at his throat. From earlier, he thinks. The screaming, he remembers.

As if on cue, Griff says something.

“What?” he croaks out. He doesn’t know why he tries to hide his annoyance, how it’s just there, right under the fog, aching to make him slip. But he does.

“Drink,” he says.

He blinks his eyes back open. There’s light, not from his room, but from somewhere down the hall, spilling its way through the door, pushing a yellow glow out. It refracts against the glass of water hovering in front of his face. A little bendy straw hangs out.

Picking battles seems relevant at that moment, so he bites the straw with dry lips, sucks the water down obediently before sinking back to the bed. His face is wet. Eyelashes heavy with the tears that refuse to fall with all the rest of them. When did he start crying, he wonders. He’s never cried before.

Hands come back for the rope and this time he just tells him right out to stop and with a little hesitation, Griff does. Griff wouldn’t understand. But Baby’s too tired to really try to understand it himself. The muscles in his arms are already starting to ache, but getting that kind of freedom now, it’s too much. His brain keeps that up. It’s all too much. Too much.

So he just shuts his eyes. Griff says something else, but what the hell are words when you’re in some muffled void and that ringing’s bleeding out, turning into a calming roar that lulls you to sleep?

* * *

He wakes very quickly and suddenly, that kind of waking that has him bolting upright. He takes quick note. The weight of the comforter, too restricting. The white light flooding from the blinds, so it’s morning. The lack of rope around his wrists, Griff’s doing. Griff dozing on top of the comforter. That part is a little surprising.

It’s not worth thinking about he decides. He slips from the bed, finds some sweat pants from the floor, tries not to wonder how long they have been there.

Making it to the kitchen is a little rougher than usual. His whole body feel like lead and he doesn’t even consider sitting on one of the stools. Just stands, yanks a bowl from the cabinet. He’s got a bowl of cereal made and half eaten when he notices them.

Griff’s wallet, his sunglasses, his keys, all tossed there on the counter like that’s where they belong. Did he put them there every time he came over? Did he have his own routine in all of this? No. He stops himself. Thinking about it comes too close to turning the whole thing into what it actually is, rather than what they pretend it is.

He doesn’t hear Griff come in, but he doesn’t turn when he notices him either. Baby’s ready to tell him to get out, but he doesn’t have to. Griff reaches around him, scoops up his belongings without even having to be asked.

But before he finally leaves, he leans up to Baby’s ear, gives him a heavy, almost friendly clap on the shoulder. “I’ll see you next time.”

Baby takes another spoonful when he hears the door shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this isn't betaed and I only read through it like once and it's nearly midnight and I've been up since 5 am lmao so I'm guessing that wasn't the most thorough proofing.
> 
> Also, a plummet is a kind of fishing sinker btw. Really I couldn't think of a good title when I started to post this and I had an article open about them in another tab lmao but it's still apt I think?? maybe not.
> 
> also also: i'm ossseous on tumblr.


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